The Beauty and the Monster
by GardenOfSnow
Summary: The demon Ba'al, whose goal is to prepare the Earth for the Great Invasion from Hell, faces an unexpected problem when a dead woman (whom it had killed to disguise itself in a human body) starts to talk back. Genre: Children's Horror Fiction. Based on the book: 'The Gates' by John Connolly, all rights belong to him. (And yes, you can enjoy it even if you haven't read the book).
1. Chapter 1

1.

'Excuse me', said a sharp voice in Ba'al's mind – the kind of voice that didn't sound like it really wanted to be apologetic about anything. 'What are you doing here?'

Ba'al looked around with its new human eyes but didn't see anyone else in the room.

'Hey, don't spin on those heels so hastily. They are my favourite shoes.'

'Who are you?' asked Ba'al, returning the annoyed tone. 'And why are you talking to me?'

'Now that is nice. You grabbed me, hurt me a lot, and now you ask me who I am and what I'm doing here. I'm living here! It's my body!'

'You're not living anywhere,' retorted Ba'al. 'You're dead. I killed you, got inside your body and took your place.'

Ba'al was sure this point made enough sense to discourage the voice from any further argument but the voice just snorted.

'Funny you should mention it, because it feels just like _I_ ate you. You taste horrible, by the way.'

'Not that you taste any better. Now do keep quiet, I have an important job to do.'

'And what is that?' asked the voice, ignoring the part about keeping quiet.

Ba'al didn't want to encourage the voice by answering, but the question was about Ba'al's duties and there was nothing that made Ba'al feel more proud than talking about its duties.

'To prepare the way for the Great Malevolence himself. To open the gates of Hell. And to make sure no human gets in the way,' announced Ba'al. Then added: 'If you were here all along, you must have heard most of it.'

'I did. I was just too bothered by other concerns. Having your insides squished and twisted usually does this to you,' said the voice sulkily.

This time Ba'al resisted the temptation to answer back and concentrated its will to keep the voice quiet. Fortunately, the voice obeyed rather easily. Had the voice insisted on talking, Ba'al wasn't sure how to keep it quiet without destroying the body. And the body was essential for the plan, so, for just a while, the presence of the voice had to be put up with.

Surely the small voice of a dead woman was no threat for an ancient powerful demon, there couldn't be any doubt about that.

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><p><strong>Author's comment:<strong>

Just uploaded 2 first chapters. I'll upload more when I've done basic spell-check and editing, it won't take long. **The story IS finished, no worries about that. **I won't make the mistake of uploading unfinished stories, ever, I promise.)**  
><strong>

Whoa, I'm finally trying to get back to writing! Life has been very busy and messy throughout the (previous) year and it's thanks to the luxury of Christmas holidays that I was finally able to enjoy myself and write something fun and non-work-related.) I also hope to catch up with the stories I missed during the year. ^^


	2. Chapter 2

2.

Prior to this conversation, Ba'al had come up from the basement to discover other parts of the house before going out into the human world. Now the demon proceeded with its explorations.

The 666 Crowley Avenue was a large Victorian house that looked like it had been built on a graveyard by a heartbroken architect who committed suicide shortly afterwards. Still it looked a bit too merry for Ba'al's liking.

The living room was smaller than the main hall of Ba'al's lair in Hell, so the demon wasn't much impressed by it. The furniture was made of something strangely soft. Ba'al approached an armchair and prodded it with her finger.1 The surface gave way a bit and restored its shape when Ba'al withdrew her hand.

Interesting, thought Ba'al. Why would they design furniture so comfortable? Sitting on that armchair isn't enough torture for a guest; not enough torture even for the host – it'll make you sleepy, not malevolent or alert.

Ba'al ignored the TV set and went to the kitchen. The stove, which ran on gas, reminded her of Hell more than any other object in the house did. With the greasy spots on its surface the stove even looked like someone had been murdered on it, though it was probably just a failed attempt to prepare the dinner. Attached to the wall by a magnet there was a variety of sharp knives, that could be useful only for somebody who didn't have as many teeth and claws as Ba'al did.

Next room was an office with a pompous desk in its centre. Both the desk and the area of the floor closest to it were cluttered with books, notes and untidy piles of paper. The computer was there on the desk all right, but the owner of the office preferred having both the computer and the unsortable paperwork to make his business seem more important than it probably was. Ba'al picked up a note (that said something about how keeping things tidy and organised leaves you a better and happier person) and almost immediately let the note fall back onto the floor. No useful information would be found here, Ba'al sensed it. Somehow the room filled her with disgust more than any other room in the house did.

The demon went upstairs and faced two closed doors. They looked identical up to a scratch, their frames, their paintwork and their knobs just the same. One of the doors filled Ba'al with resentment, the other with boredom. In the normal course of events, Ba'al would prefer to face something that made her furious, not bored, but this house was far from normal to her, and for no obvious reason she chose the boring door.

Behind it was a bedroom of someone who preferred horrible lilac and pinkish colours. The bed, the walls, even the curtains looked like they were insides of a sea monster dried in the sun to look pale.

In the corner stood a dressing table and, for the first time, Ba'al had a chance to take a closer look at her new appearance. She was a woman of perhaps forty2 with perfect blond hair and limbs that were humanly thin yet stronger than they looked. She pulled down the hood of her robe to examine her hair and find out how on earth it had been made into a hairdo that survived the perils of being dragged to Hell and back to Earth again. The answer was the metal bottle that read "Wondrous Hair Spray", which stood on the table along with the row of colourful things that looked like severed fingers encased in small plastic containers. Ba'al picked one that looked the most bloodied, removed the top part of the container and sniffed the thing. It smelled like strawberry, not the actual strawberry, though, but something imitating the smell of it. Had the stuff smelled exactly like strawberry, it would have made Ba'al rather sick, but it was a synthetic chemical, toxic and, probably, poisonous, so Ba'al liked it a lot.

Then she discovered a small bottle with some liquid that seemed to consist of nothing but the razor-sharp flowery smell.

'You could definitely use some of that,' said the familiar voice, rather cheerfully this time. 'You make my body smell like a junk-yard that has been destroyed by fire.'

'I thought I silenced you for good,' said Ba'al, irritated. She looked up at the mirror as though expecting to see the intruder. The face in the mirror remained calm and controlled, even the lips didn't move, for the voice was speaking only inside her head.

'I was just being helpful,' remarked the voice in an innocent tone. It said nothing more, obviously not fancying being silenced by force again.

Ba'al discovered another door in the room and found herself in a closet full of dresses, and shoes not unlike the ones she was wearing at the moment. Colourful, some even glittering.3

Curious despite herself, she took a pair of shoes with lower heels and put them on.4 She resisted all other treasures hidden in the closet, for she had more important things to do, and stepped back into the room. But just as she was about to leave, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror again. She paused and starred at her new face and figure, finally realising how disturbingly beautiful she was. If there was one thing Ba'al hated more than all other things, it was beauty. Beauty was purposeless, vulnerable, and, the most important part, beauty was something that Ba'al lacked completely.5

Well, for the greater purpose, sacrifices must be made, thought Ba'al. If the success of our mission depends on me being beautiful (temporary, of course) then beautiful I'll be.

Having made this selfless decision, she turned round and headed towards the door.

'Stop. Stop right there,' said the voice. 'You are not going out of the house in that robe. Hear me?'

Ba'al was a bit baffled by the strictness of the voice.

'What?'

'I said, you're not making me look foolish walking around the town in that ridiculous ragged robe!'

'What's wrong with it?' asked Ba'al, who saw no big difference between a medieval robe and an evening dress. 'I thought it looked just right for blending in. Anyway, it was you who was wearing it in the first place.'

The voice gave a long dramatic sigh.

'Of course I was wearing it, that's what the spellbook told me to do! But you can't blend in with anyone, wearing that robe. Monks and witchhunters excluded.'

Ba'al considered this for a moment.

'So, what do you think should I wear?'

**Footnotes:**

1Now, just for the sake of common sense, I'm going to call Ba'al a 'she'. It makes things easier, and this way you won't assume that this story is weird enough for armchairs to have fingers.

2The age that Ba'al would describe as human middle age, but for reasons unknown, humans refused calling themselves middle-aged before they were fifty or even sixty, ignoring the fact that they rarely lived long enough to make fifty or sixty the actual middle of their age. Ba'al found it all rather confusing.

3The posh type of colourful and glittering, which is not very colourful or glittering, indeed, but imagine yourself starring at nothing but muddy brown, fiery red and stony grey for millennia - you'd be impressed by the dullest shades of anything else.

4If you're female, you know what she felt. Even if you are not, you are always welcome to do the daring experiment of wearing high-heel shoes for a whole day. Warning: it hurts. Really.

5If you want to imagine what Ba'al really looked like, imagine the most dreadful monster that ever visited you in your nightmares, multiply this monster by 3 or 4 in its size, add some gruesome details that really disturb you and don't forget the nasty smell, predatory eating habits and violent fits of temper. Now you have exactly the kind of monster that would shrink in fear and flee had it ever laid its eyes on Ba'al.


	3. Chapter 3

3.

Mrs Abernathy was not a happy woman. She had married the man who happened to be Mr Abernathy because, well, that was what things were supposed to be like in life. She wasn't exactly looking for someone she could care of, and nor that she felt she could make a valuable contribution to the institute of family. She just thought it would make her life a bit easier, having a husband around. It made, in a way, but still something was missing, and when this something is missing, the most horrible of things tend to take up its room.

Thus it happened that Mrs Abernathy became more interested in ghosts, angels and demons than in her husband. As far as Mrs Abernathy was concerned, Mr Abernathy was good in one thing only: doing nothing or messing it all up and whining that it was someone else's fault that things had gone wrong. She wouldn't trust him with opening a tin of sardines, let along helping her with summoning the demons from the beyond. But the mysterious book she had found told her that she needed four people for the spell; even if three of them were, in her opinion, nothing but a waste of her good manners.

Opening a small portal between her basement and Hell proved to be the most exciting thing for years. It was so much more exciting than just existing in the town of Biddlecomb along her husband, that Mrs Abernathy didn't really mind small inconveniences accompanying it, even if those inconveniences did include being dragged to Hell and killed there by a monster.

Everyone needs a hobby to fulfil the best of their talents. Mrs Abernathy never enjoyed cooking, or gardening, or painting, and could never imagine herself growing into an old lady who enjoyed knitting or patchwork. She was beginning to think there was no hobby that suited her, but all of a sudden she discovered that being possessed by a creature whose sole purpose was to destroy the world and watch it all die suited her just fine. It was a better hobby than knitting.

When the monster got inside her body she was too pained and too weak to act or speak, but as minutes went by, she recovered a bit and revealed her presence, just to let the intruder know that she was still there and not going to go away.

As the new occupant of her body moved from room to room and Mrs Abernathy glimpsed at familiar things, she suddenly became aware of emotions that were not her own. Everything was so new, so mysterious, everything had potential, even if it was only the potential to be destroyed by fire, ice or brute force. Mrs Abernathy had always enjoyed imagining setting her husband's office on fire and watching him run around in helpless panic as his precious manuscripts perished in flames, but this was different. As she entered her own bedroom she felt the curiosity of someone who had never seen a dressing table, someone who had no idea how to use make up or choose the right clothes. Mrs Abernathy, on the other hand, had to do these things on daily basis and had grown so used to them that they failed to give her pleasure anymore.

When she sensed that the monster was going to go out in an inappropriate outfit, she had to interfere. Being possessed was no excuse for looking slouchy, even if she did resent every single habitant of the town.

'So, what do you think should I wear?' asked the thing.

'All right, monster, let's go back to the closet and find the beige cardigan with pearl buttons. It should do. Can you find the shoes to match? I remember having pretty patent leather ones, but I'm not sure if they made it to this house when we moved.'

Her body shuddered.

'I'm not wearing any shoes that make me walk on my toes again!' said the monster, its voice giving away more feeling than was intended.

'You'll get used to them, it's not that hard,' said Mrs Abernathy encouragingly.

'I can get used to anything. But it doesn't mean I _want_ to get used to it.'

The monster maraudered Mrs Abernathy's closet the way small children marauder their parent's closets – in sheer minutes all the dresses, skirts, tops, blouses, trousers and far more intimate pieces lay on the bed in a pile that resembled a haystack. Mrs Abernathy considered telling the monster off for this, but thought, Why bother? It's the end of the world in just four days, who's going to notice that she made her bedroom look a bit (well, a lot) untidy for a lady? And she did enjoy it, hellishly so.

She tried on the beige cardigan, the green evening dress, the blue summer dress, the dark purple trousers, the white blouse with lace collar, the skirt that some people would think was a bit too short, the shorts that some people would think were a bit too long6, and pretty much everything else, accompanied by a sequence of shoes, boots, hats and ladybags.

FOOTNOTES:

6 Not all of these items at the same time, of course. Although Ba'al might have tried to put them all at the same time, if not warned by Mrs Abernathy.

As it often happens to ladies who spend a little too much time on dressing up, by the time Mrs Abernathy and her companion made up their mind about what to wear to go out, it was already too late to go out anywhere. It was the middle of the night.

'Where were you going to go anyway?' asked Mrs Abernathy as the demon adjusted a dashing hat on her head.

'To look for the child who was spying on us at the basement window. He may cause trouble.'

'Who, the foolish boy from 501, Samuel Johnson? He can't cause any real trouble.'

'Maybe not. But I'd better find out what he is up to. And I'm definitely wearing this overcoat.'

'It was my favourite when I was alive. Never got the chance to wear it as often as I wanted, though.' The memory made her a bit nostalgic and very talkative. 'That's the problem with things that are both favourite and expensive; you end up wearing them on special occasions only, like once a year. On the other hand, why not wear it whenever you want? I mean, whenever I want, not you. Never mind. Wait, are you going to leave this mess just the way it is? Great, it's not like I'm still human and need to use this bed for sleeping from time to time. I bet you were planning to sleep like a bat, attached to the ceiling or something.'

'I rarely get tired. But I will put this pile back into the closet if it'll keep you quiet, monster.'

'Hey, I was calling you monster. It's getting confusing. What's your name anyway?'

'Ba'al. The Commander of Hell's armies, the most trusted lieutenant of the Great Malevolence.'

'Nice,' said Mrs Abernathy, her voice lacking enthusiasm. 'I'd like to say it was nice to meet you, but it wasn't.'

'The feeling is mutual.'

They kept silent for half a minute, realising that, surprisingly, they didn't resent each other as fiercely as before.

'Well, considering the intimate nature of our relationship, you can call me Evelyn,' said Mrs Abernathy.

'Perfect. I was intending to keep the "Mrs Abernathy" name for myself while I'm here on Earth,' said Ba'al.

She looked at the pile of clothes, then took the overcoat off and opened the closet door wider.

'Now about the mess…' reminded Evelyn.

'I was just about to take care of it.'

Four long tentacles erupted from her back, ripping the fabric of the dress she was still wearing, grabbed the pile and thrusted it into the closet with one quick move.

'I'm impressed,' confessed Evelyn. 'I just hope you can iron with those tentacles as skilfully.'

When about fifteen minutes later Mrs Abernathy finally approached the garden gate of 501 Crowley Avenue, there wasn't a single light in the house. Everybody was sleeping. Samuel, his mother, his dog. Mrs Abernathy could sense it clearly with her demonic senses.

'Here we are. Neat and ready to act,' summed up Evelyn. 'Are we going to smother him in his sleep? Or just cut his tongue out so that he doesn't talk about our affairs?'

'Neither,' answered Ba'al. 'First, we must find out what he has already told people around him.'

'Good idea. You know, you are bright, and not because you make my eyes glow in the dark. I was a bit worried you'd suggest breaking into the house this very moment and wrecking the hell of it. It could make a sensational headline: 'The boy warns about invasion from Hell murdered by tentacled woman'.

Ba'al didn't answer, for Ba'al had to focus her will on keeping the portal open, and Evelyn went silent with the superior air of someone who was right all along. Mrs Abernathy turned away from the garden gate and walked back to her house.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's comment:<strong>

You may notice it yourself, but I'll just spare you some trouble and explain: from now on the personality of the original Mrs Abernathy is called Evelyn, and if you see 'Mrs Abernathy', it means either both Evelyn & Ba'al or it's up to you to guess which of them is speaking/acting.


End file.
